


Home Sweet Home

by kawuli



Series: Smiles and Promises [1]
Category: Hunger Games Series - All Media Types, Hunger Games Trilogy - Suzanne Collins
Genre: Backstory, Child Abuse, Child Neglect, District 6, Drug Abuse, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-01
Updated: 2016-03-01
Packaged: 2018-05-24 04:35:40
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,397
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6141664
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kawuli/pseuds/kawuli
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When Rokia is six years old, Grandma teaches her how to cook for her Mom and Grandpa while Grandma's off with the trains. When Rokia is eight, her Mom starts acting strange. When Grandpa finds out, Rokia's world gets pulled out from under her. </p>
<p>Backstory for Rokia's childhood. Heed the warnings.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

When Rokia is six, Grandma teaches her how to cook. Rokia loves the weeks when Grandma is home, because Grandma braids her hair and tells her stories and lets Rokia sit on her lap when they watch TV. She likes coming home from school then because the house is always warm and smells like good food. When Grandma is off with the trains she leaves food for Grandpa and Mom and Rokia in boxes in the freezer, but Grandpa doesn’t like cooking and Mom works second shift and so now that Rokia is big enough to stand on a stool and reach the counter she gets to be in charge of the kitchen.

Rokia learned to read in school this year and Grandma shows her the instructions she writes on the boxes. The oven goes on 425 degrees for 30 minutes for the green bean casserole Rokia doesn’t like but Grandpa loves, 350 for 60 minutes for chicken pot pies they both like, and the soup goes in the slowcooker on “low” before she leaves for school. Grandma shows her the timer and the thermometer and says it’s very, very important that she follows the rules and is careful around the oven because she could get hurt.

There’s lots of rules. Grandpa wants supper to be ready at 5 o’clock, just enough time for him to come home and change his clothes. He wants the dishes cleaned up right away and no messes. He likes fruit, so sometimes he gives her money and she stops at the shop on her way home, counting out coins for apples or cherries or sometimes oranges. It’s Mom’s job to buy bread for breakfast on her way home from work but sometimes she forgets and then Grandpa shakes Rokia awake and sends her to the store in the dark while he shaves.

Mom doesn’t seem to care about Grandpa’s rules. They only see each other when they have the same days off, and every time she and Grandpa fight. Sometimes they get the fighting part done while Rokia is at school and just aren’t talking to each other by the time she gets home. Sometimes Mom just goes out with her friends or stays upstairs. But sometimes Mom comes home for dinner and then Rokia doesn’t use the nice glasses because one time Mom threw one at Grandpa’s head and it smashed against the wall and Rokia was finding glass splinters in the floorboards for days.

When Rokia is seven Mom starts going out more with her friends. Sometimes she doesn’t even come home after work. Sometimes she comes home in the morning after Grandpa leaves and goes up to bed without talking to Rokia.

Then Mom starts forgetting to go to work. The first time Rokia came home from school and found Mom sitting on the couch watching TV she got scared. Mom said she was sick and not to tell Grandpa, and then she left before he came home. When it starts happening more Rokia gets mad, because if Mom is well enough to go out with her friends why couldn’t she go to work? Or help make dinner? Sometimes she even leaves dirty dishes in the sink and Rokia wants to tell her she’s being uncivilized because that’s what Grandpa says about people who leave messes, but he also says kids shouldn’t talk back to grownups.

Rokia doesn’t think Mom really counts as a grownup.

One day she does tell Mom she should wash her own stupid dishes. Mom laughs.

“Come on, not you too, baby. Let him do the damn dishes for once.”

Rokia scowls. Grandpa doesn’t do dishes. Doesn’t Mom know how it works?

Maybe not. Mom doesn’t pay attention when Grandpa yells at her. She doesn’t even seem like she cares when he hits her.

Next time Grandma’s home Rokia asks her why Mom doesn’t do what Grandpa says. Grandma laughs, but it’s not mean like when Mom laughs at her.

“Oh, baby girl, she never did. She’s dynamite, your Mom, and your Grandpa makes an awful lot of sparks.”

Rokia knows about dynamite because she hears the explosions. They learned in school that it’s for blowing up the rock so the miners can get to the iron.

Rokia wonders what happens when a person explodes.

Mom goes to work like normal while Grandma is home, and Grandma does the laundry and makes dinner and Rokia stays after school and plays kickball or tag with the other kids. When the first-shift parents start coming to pick them up she runs home, fast, so she can get home before Grandpa does. If she’s late he tells her she’s lazy and she should help Grandma because in this house everyone has to earn their keep. Grandma just stays quiet until he finishes yelling and stomps out of the kitchen, and then gives her a big hug and an apple all to herself.

Rokia hates it when Grandma has to leave. Grandpa is gone already so she can climb up on Grandma’s lap at the breakfast table and snuggle in close.

“I wish you could stay,” Rokia says.

Grandma’s arms pull tight around her, Grandma’s hand stroking her hair. “Oh, baby girl, I wish I could, too, but I got a job to do.”

Rokia knows that. “You could take me with you?” She looks up at Grandma, who smiles.

“I’d like that. But you have to go to school.”

“No I don’t, school is boring.”

Grandma laughs a little and tugs on the ends of Rokia’s braids. “Then you make it interesting. There’s always something you can learn. I’ll be back in two weeks and you can tell me all about it.”

Rokia scowls. “I guess I can figure out _something_ interesting.”

“That’s my girl.” Grandma kisses Rokia on the top of her head. “Now get up, I gotta get to the depot.”

“I love you, Grandma”

“I love you too, babygirl.” Grandma puts her hands to Rokia’s cheeks and kisses her again on the forehead, then turns and walks out the door.

 

Mom is home when Rokia gets back from school, but it isn’t just her. She’s lying on the couch with a man and both of them are sleeping. They don’t even have all their clothes on.

Rokia isn’t supposed to bring friends over because they’ll make a mess, and Mom and her friend have definitely made a mess. There’s a bunch of stuff on the coffee table and they have left their clothes all over everywhere. Grandpa is going to be home soon and he’s going to be so mad.

Rokia is scared, but maybe it serves Mom right. The last time Grandpa found Mom at home when she was supposed to be at work, he’d hit Mom, hard, and then when he saw Rokia watching he’d hit her too and told her to quit spying. That wasn’t so bad—but that was just Mom being home when she wasn’t supposed to be, not having friends over and making a mess. This is going to be trouble.

Mom doesn’t wake up when Rokia pokes her, so she shakes her hard and says “Mom!”

Mom’s eyes open, slowly, and she looks at Rokia. “What?”

Her voice is funny, slurred and stupid-sounding.

“Grandpa is coming home soon and you made a mess and you have to clean it up.”

Mom just looks at her. “Nah, ‘s fine. He can go back to hell where he came from.”

Rokia huffs. Fine. She goes to the kitchen and gets out the green bean casserole from the freezer because maybe if she makes his favorite Grandpa will be a little less mad. Then she washes the cups Mom left in the sink, goes back to the living room and puts all the clothes in one pile. She’s not sure what to do with the other stuff so she just moves it to one side. There’s syringes and needles and a lighter and a dirty spoon, and Mom always says it’s medicine, but Rokia’s heard about morphling at school, and she wonders.

She’s back in the kitchen when she hears the door open. She sits in the corner by the fridge so Grandpa won’t see her at first but she can still hear.

It’s quiet. Rokia isn’t sure what that means. She stays where she is, listening to Grandpa’s boots hitting the floor, his steps crossing the living room heavy even in his socks. He finally comes into the kitchen, sees her in the corner. His face is mad, and his hands are clenched into fists but he isn’t yelling, so Rokia doesn’t know what to do. He walks over to her, pulls her to her feet, his hand so hard around her arm it hurts.

“You.” He says. Not yelling, quiet. He stops. Starts again, the hand not gripping her arm clenching and releasing. “How long has she been like this?”

“She said she’s sick,” Rokia says, keeping her voice small so Grandpa doesn’t think she’s talking back. “She said not to tell you.”

Grandpa shakes her. “How long.”

Rokia tries to think how many times Grandma has been home since the first time. Four. One week home plus three weeks gone is four. Four times four is sixteen. “Sixteen weeks.” Maybe not exactly. But close enough.

Grandpa doesn’t let go of Rokia but he turns his head back toward the living room, and now he yells. “You lying, ungrateful bitch!”

He pulls Rokia with him as he goes over to the couch. Finally he lets go of her to grab Mom, who’s just woken up and is looking around like she’s confused. He shoves Mom’s friend off the couch and ignores him, hauling Mom to her feet and then slapping her across the face.

That seems to finally wake Mom up and she struggles, trying to get away from him but Grandpa has his big, strong hands around her arms and she can’t get free. Rokia goes and sits in the corner and watches.

“Fuck you, old man,” Mom yells. “You have no right to tell me…”

Grandpa slaps her again. Rokia winces.

“I have every right,” Grandpa says. His voice is quiet again. “You are in my house, you follow my rules.”

Mom’s friend has gotten up now, and walks over to them.

“Hey, man, lay off her.”

Grandpa stares at him. Uh-oh, Rokia thinks.

“This,” Grandpa says, “is none of your business.”

The man gets up close, like he wants to hit Grandpa. Grandpa shifts, grabs both of Mom’s wrists in one of his, and puts his other hand on Mom’s friend’s chest, keeping him at arm’s length.

“Get the fuck out of my house.” Grandpa’s voice sounds like yelling even though it’s quiet. Rokia wishes he’d yell. She knows what it means when he yells.

Then he looks at Mom. “You too. Get out.”

Mom’s eyes go wide. “You can’t do that. Where am I supposed to go?”

“That’s not my problem.”

Rokia hears the buzzer go off in the kitchen and gets up to go turn the oven off. Grandpa turns to looks at her and she freezes.

“You too.” Grandpa says. “Go pack your stuff.”

No. Mom can leave, that’s okay, she goes off on her own all the time. But this is home. Rokia can’t just go. Anyway kids have to be with grownups, that’s the rules, and Rokia is sure now that Mom doesn’t count.

“But—“ she starts to argue even though she’s not supposed to, then stops when she looks at Grandpa’s face. She’s just lucky he’s got both his hands occupied. She stays still though, too shocked to even move.

Mom opens her mouth to say something, and Grandpa looks at her. “She’s your kid. She’s your responsibility. I’ve been making things way too easy for you and this is how you repay me? You had your chance to get clean, you swore to me you were done with this shit, now I find out you’ve been going behind my back and your kid’s been lying to me about it? Forget it.”

“Rokia,” Mom says, trying to be bossy, and that’d be funny except right now it’s really, really not. “Go get your stuff.”

Rokia feels like she’s in a dream. This is a nightmare she will wake up from later. Grandma will hear her crying and come wake her up and tell her stories and it will all be okay. But right now the casserole is going to burn and Grandma isn’t here.

She nods. “But I gotta turn the oven off before the food burns.” Grandpa sighs.

“Fine, go do that. And turn off that damn noise. Then you pack your clothes.”

She turns off the buzzer, turns off the oven, takes out the casserole and sets it on top of the stove to cool.

Rokia walks to her room and looks around. They must be coming back soon. Grandma will fix it. She takes her school clothes and her favorite jeans and puts them in her pillowcase. She takes that and her school bag with the books and pencils and paper and she walks downstairs. Mom’s friend is gone, Mom is still stomping around upstairs, and Grandpa is sitting at the kitchen table. He has his elbows on the table and his head in his hands.

Rokia hadn’t finished setting the table when everything started. She goes in and takes out the plates, the glasses, the silverware, for three places because Mom is home and there weren’t plates in the sink before so she is probably hungry.

“What are you doing?” Grandpa asks, in that not-yelling angry voice.

“Setting the table.”

“Who for?”

“You and me and Mom”

Grandpa just glares at her. “No, Rokia,” he says. “You and your Mom are leaving.”

“But it’s dinnertime.” She glances at the clock. She’s not late, not yet. She keeps setting out the forks.

His hand smashes down on top of hers. “Stop it.”

Rokia looks up at him, confused. Mom walks into the kitchen.

“Oh for fuck’s sake Rokia, come on.” Rokia looks between the two of them. She wishes Grandma was here. Grandma would know what to do.

Grandpa lets up on her hand just as Mom grabs her other one and pulls her toward the door. Rokia shakes free, picks up her pillowcase and her school bag and follows her out.


	2. Chapter 2

Rokia counts the days until Grandma gets home.

They’re staying with Mom’s friend, whose name is Jack. He has an apartment in a tall brick building in the part of town Rokia’s not allowed to walk in by herself and a roommate who works on the trains. The apartment is a mess.

Really a mess, not just Grandpa-would-get-mad mess. There are 3 chipped plates and a bunch of plastic cups and bent forks in the drawers and the table is always covered with vials and syringes. Mom still says she’s sick. Rokia thinks she’s lying. She’s worked it out, between Claire at school talking about dirty junkies and the things Grandpa says when stories about drugs and gangs in the cities come on TV. Mom’s taking morphling. And that’s illegal, and that’s why Grandpa kicked her out.

There isn’t any food in the kitchen and nobody gives her money to buy anything and sometimes Mom brings her something but sometimes they forget. Rokia gets lunch at school and she can sometimes save a piece of bread or an apple or something to take home just in case but it’s not enough. It’s hard to sleep between her stomach growling or hurting and people coming in and out and making noise. She doesn’t have her own room like she did at Grandma and Grandpa’s house, she has a pile of blankets in the corner of the living room. It’s just starting to get cold and every time the door opens more cold air gets in and it wakes her up.

On the first day of Grandma’s week home Rokia runs all the way from school to the house. _Her_ house, she thinks. It should still be her house except Mom ruined everything. She doesn’t rush in the door though, she sneaks around to the kitchen until she can peek in the window. When she sees Grandma mixing bread dough she races back to the front door and bangs it open.

Grandma turns, flour on her hands, and her face goes from worried to smiling when she sees Rokia. Rokia doesn’t even take off her shoes or drop her schoolbag, she runs into the kitchen and hugs Grandma tight.

It’s only after she pulls away that she realizes Grandma has bruises on her face.

Grandma goes over to the sink to wash her hands and then comes back.

“I’m so sorry, babygirl,” she says. “He won’t listen to me.”

Rokia’s heart sinks. “No, Grandma, he has to let me come back, I swear I’ll be good.”

Grandma pulls Rokia to the couch and into her lap as though she really was still a baby. “I know, Rokia, you’re always good. He just won’t have it.”

“It’s not fair,” Rokia says, “I didn’t do anything, it was Mom who got in trouble so why is he mad at me and you?”

Grandma is untangling Rokia’s hair as she talks, tough, callused hands working through the knots. “He’s mad at just about everything, your Grandpa. Can’t do much about it.”

Rokia settles against Grandma. She’s still mad, but she’s tired, too, and it’s warm and comfortable and safe and she’s almost falling asleep when grandma shifts and says “Rokia, you have to go before he gets home.”

Rokia bites her lip as the tears come to her eyes.

“Can I come back tomorrow?”

Grandma’s eyes are teary, too. “Of course, babygirl, you come right after school.”

Rokia nods, then puts on her shoes and goes home.

The next day Grandma feeds her chicken soup and gives her bread to take home with her.

The third day Rokia skips school and goes over in the morning and Grandma takes her to buy groceries and shows her how to make green bean casserole and chicken soup.

Rokia skips school again on Grandma’s last day and Grandma looks like she wants to be mad when Rokia comes in but she just shakes her head and gives Rokia a big hug. They cook, and Grandma does the laundry, and they sweep the floors and Rokia can almost pretend that it’s back to normal except after lunch Grandma takes Rokia into the kitchen and reaches far, far back into the pantry and pulls out a little box.

In the box is money, a lot of it, more than Rokia has seen all together before, and she looks at Grandma with wide eyes as Grandma counts bills onto the table.

Finally she folds them up, puts them in a little pouch and hands it to Rokia.

“This is for you, so you can get groceries and things when I’m not here. Don’t let your Mom know you have it, okay? Keep it hidden real well.”

Rokia nods, eyes wide.

They pack up more of her cold-weather clothes, and her coat, and her rain boots, in one of grandma’s duffels, the one that’s old and patched and smells like the trains. Grandma picks it up and walks with Rokia back to the apartment.

Grandma looks mad when she comes inside and sees the mess, the living room without any furniture, Rokia’s blankets piled in the corner. They set her duffel with the other clothes from the pillowcase. Rokia peeks in the room Mom and Jack share and there they are, sleeping, even though it’s the middle of the day and Mom is supposed to be at work.

Rokia has never been scared of Grandma, but Grandma walks right into that room and hauls Mom up and the look on her face is just as scary as anything Rokia has seen on Grandpa’s.

“Fatumata I swear to God I don’t know what you think you are doing,” she says, hissing through bared teeth as she half-drags Mom out to the kitchen.

Mom’s blinking, bleary-eyed, and it’s not till Grandma just about throws her into a chair and sweeps the mess off the table onto the floor that she seems to really wake up.

“Hey! What the hell do you think _you’re_ doing, Mom?” She looks a little frightened. Good, Rokia thinks. Serves you right.

“I think I must’ve screwed up something awful if you’re doing this to your own daughter.” Grandma says, her voice harsh and sad.

Mom slumps at that, dropping her head to her hands. “Shit, Mom, I never thought he’d kick _her_ out.”

“Yeah?” Grandma’s voice doesn’t change even though Mom isn’t fighting anymore. “Seems to me not a lot of thinking’s going on with you lately.”

Mom laughs, a strange, hollow, sound. “Yeah. Not so much’a that.”

Grandma shakes her head. “Look, you know I’ll help if I can, but he won’t take you nor her back, not yet anyway, and you not for a while if I’m any judge. You gotta get it together for your girl even if you can’t do it for yourself.”

“I don’t know what to do, Ma, I’m just—“ she sweeps her arms out wide. “I don’t know what to do,” she says again, quiet.

Grandma reaches across the table and takes Mom’s hand. “You still got your place at the mine?”

Mom winces like something hurts. “No,” she whispers, so quiet Rokia can barely hear it.

Grandma shakes her head. “Girl, we been through this how many times now? You gotta stay off that shit, you gotta be able to hold down a job.”

Mom’s head’s hanging, she’s hunched over the table like she’s trying to hide. “I know, Mama,” she says, “I just… I can’t.”

Grandma goes over and stands behind Mom’s chair, hands on Mom’s shoulders. She’s quiet for a minute before she says, hesitant, “You can, babygirl, I know you can. I know it’s hard…”

Mom laughs at that, the mean laugh for when Rokia says something stupid. “You don’t know shit,” she says, her regular voice back, “don’t you pretend like you do.”

Grandma pulls her hands back. “I—“

“No, you know what, if you want to help so much, help Rokia. I’ll be fine. You tell Dad that. You tell him he can take his _help_ and his rules and his bullshit and go straight to hell, I don’t need him and I don’t need you.” Mom shoves her chair back so hard it clatters onto the floor, walks back into the bedroom and slams the door without looking back.

Grandma looks as startled as Rokia is, but she smooths out her face and motions Rokia over. She crouches down until she’s looking Rokia in the eye, hands on Rokia’s shoulders. “Rokia, you listen to me. I’m going to try to get your Grandpa to let you come back, I’m going to do everything I can, but you’re going to have to take care of yourself for a while, okay? You remember what I told you?”

Rokia nods. Grandma takes her thumb and rubs it across Rokia’s cheekbones, wiping away the tears Rokia didn’t notice before. “Shhh, babygirl, you’re so strong and smart and brave, you’re gonna be okay, you hear me?” Rokia brings her eyes up to meet Grandma’s, and nods, just a little. Grandma pulls her in and hugs her tight, then stands up, takes a deep breath, and walks out.

It’s a week later when Mom comes into the house and tells Rokia to pack her things. Rokia is trying to make spaghetti like Grandma taught her and it kind of worked but the sauce doesn’t taste the same without the little pinches of things Grandma added that Rokia doesn’t have.

“Where are we going?” Rokia asks. Mom smiles.

“We’re going to Three Rivers to stay with Salif.”

“Who?”

“Your uncle. My brother. He says he’ll give me a job so I could get a travel pass for us.” Mom looks happy, but Rokia isn’t sure.

“But what about Grandma?”

“What _about_ Grandma?”

“If she’s here and we’re in Three Rivers when can I see her?”

“Rokia, how the hell do I know,” Mom sounds frustrated, like she doesn’t want to answer any more questions. “Just get your stuff ready.”

“Okay, but there’s spaghetti,” Rokia says, holding up the spoon.

Mom laughs. “God, what is it with you? Okay, finish the spaghetti first. We’re leaving in the morning.”

Rokia’s things are basically already packed, the pouch of money from Grandma, still more than half left, tucked inside her school bag, her clothes folded in her duffel. She’s washing the dishes when Jack comes in. Mom’s in their bedroom, packing her own stuff, Rokia figures, and it’s not long before she hears them yelling. She finishes taking care of all the dishes, letting the sound of the water running and the clatter of plates drown out the fight.

When that’s done she goes over to her corner and pulls the blankets over her head.

They get on the train together the next morning, following the crew’s directions to the passenger car. It’s a cargo train, really, carrying iron ore to the smelters and factories, but a few passengers are showing travel passes to the Peacekeeper at the door and climbing on. Mom is gripping Rokia’s hand tight enough to hurt, but Rokia doesn’t pull away. It’s exciting to get to actually ride the train. She’s only ever heard stories from Grandma and she wants to go look at the engine and talk to the crew but Mom tells her to sit down and hush, so she does.

Rokia sits next to the window and watches as they pull away, watches the town fade into the distance, watches as they pass the pit mines dotting the hillsides, trucks crawling down the sides.

Before long they’re rushing through forest, deep and dark and nothing like Rokia has ever seen. The occasional clearings flash bright and startle her. Sometimes there’s no clear reason why the trees end, but sometimes there are hints of old highways stretching wide and empty out into the distance. Occasionally there’s a swath of cut trees, brush growing up around the stumps. They go over the longest bridge Rokia’s ever seen, water stretching far off on either side. She wants to ask Mom about it but Mom’s sleeping, so Rokia just stares wide-eyed as the landscape slides past.

The train makes its first stop that evening at the smelters in Warren and they all get off. Mom disappears into the bathroom and Rokia watches as the station crew pulls off the cars piled with raw iron and attaches new cars full of steel. There are other trains coming in, cars full of junk metal and coal and rocks and Rokia’s not sure just what, and they’re being shifted and unloaded by huge machines.The sun has set but the glow from the smelters lights up the sky.

They get to Three Rivers late that night. Mom is sleeping, but Rokia is too excited to do more then doze restlessly as they rumble through the night. When the train slows, Rokia opens her eyes and looks out over a sea of lights.

She shakes Mom awake as they pull into the depot. They collect their bags and climb down onto the platform. A man comes over to meet them and he’s taller than Mom, Rokia guesses he’s even taller than Grandpa, and he pulls Mom into a hug.

“Good to see you, ‘Mata” he says, “this your little one?” His voice is deep and rumbly and he’s smiling at Rokia.

“I’m Rokia,” she says.

“Pleased to meet you,” he replies, solemn, but he’s smiling. “I’m your Uncle Salif.”

He takes her duffel bag and Mom’s, and they walk through the depot to a lot full of cars. Rokia knows they make cars in Three Rivers but she hasn’t ever met anyone who owns one. Uncle Salif unlocks a small truck, throws their duffels into the covered bed and motions them in. It’s a tight fit, Rokia squeezed in between Mom and Uncle Sal, but Rokia doesn’t mind so long as she can look around.

Uncle Salif chuckles as he turns the key and the motor whines. “Don’t get too excited, girl, it’s just an old work truck.” He maneuvers them out onto the street, “Doesn’t go more’n 50 miles or so without a charge anymore, and it won’t outrun a fast bicycle, but it’s nicer than the El.”

Rokia watches Uncle Salif out of the corner of her eye. His big hands on the steering wheel are tough and criss-crossed with lines of scars, his broad shoulders in contrast to Mom’s bony frame. Uncle Sal’s right, they’re not moving fast, not like the train, but that means Rokia can watch the buildings, warehouses and factories shifting to squat brick structures. They pull up to one and Uncle Salif gets out to open the door.

When he flips on the lights Rokia’s jaw drops. It’s a huge space, with machines she can’t begin to recognize circling the walls and a hovercraft parked at the center, huge and dark and faintly menacing. Uncle Salif just smiles and leads them to a stairway in the back. They go through a door and suddenly it’s like they’re in a house. It’s small—the kitchen and the living room are all one room, and Uncle Salif, whispering, points out the one bedroom and the bathroom. There’s a bed to one side of the living room where Uncle Sal says she and Mom can sleep.

“I hope you don’t mind sharing,” he says, “We don’t have much space.”

After her weeks of blanket nests Rokia is just happy to get half of a bed, and Mom just shrugs and says, “We’ll be fine.”

Uncle Sal smiles. “OK then, I’m going to try to get some sleep.”

Rokia finds her pajamas and her toothbrush, brushes her teeth and climbs into bed. Mom’s in the bathroom for a long time, and Rokia falls asleep waiting for her to come out.

Rokia wakes up in the morning to sounds from the kitchen. She’s hungry and she should probably help make breakfast, so she gets up, pulls on her sweater, and pads over toward the kitchen table. She stops when she realizes it’s not Uncle Salif, but someone else putting water on to boil. The woman turns, looks surprised to see Rokia standing there.

“You must be Rokia,” she says.

Rokia nods, shy, then remembers her manners. “Yes, ma’am.”

The woman looks pleased at that. “I’m Magda. Your aunt.”

“Pleased to meet you, Aunt Magda.”

Aunt Magda smiles a tight little smile that doesn’t quite meet her eyes and turns back to the stove.

Rokia watches as Aunt Magda makes coffee and porridge and gets out bowls and mugs and that’s when Uncle Salif comes out. Rokia turns. She should probably be helping, but Aunt Magda didn’t tell her what to do and she doesn’t know where anything is here. Uncle Salif doesn’t look mad though.

“Good morning, Rokia,” he says, smiling. “Good morning, Maggie.” He goes over to where Aunt Magda’s stirring the porridge and kisses her, then starts pulling out bowls and cups. “Rokia, can you help me set the table?”

Rokia nods, and he hands her things. They set a place for Mom even though she’s still asleep. Rokia isn’t sure what the rule is about breakfast here, but Grandpa’s rule is that if you sleep through it you don’t get any.

“Should I wake up Mom?” she asks, uncertain.

“Nah,” Uncle Salif says, “If she’s tired enough to sleep through all this noise she must need the sleep.”

When they finish breakfast Uncle Salif invites Rokia to come down to the shop. Aunt Magda gives him a sharp look and he shrugs. Rokia looks between them. Aunt Magda seems mad, almost, but Uncle Salif’s still smiling, so Rokia takes his hand and lets him take her downstairs.

The place looks even bigger in the daylight. Uncle Salif goes over to a table in one corner, covered in papers, and pulls out a couple of screwdrivers.

“Come on,” he says, “you can help.”

Rokia grins.

 


End file.
